And Then There Was One
by myhomeistheshire
Summary: Clint and Natasha are sent on a simple recon mission that turns deadly when they encounter a mysterious enemy known simply as the Weeping Angels.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This first chapter is a short one, as I was in a rush to get it finished. Set before the Avengers movie. Based off of this post on tumblr: (x)

"I'm in position."

Natasha lowered her hand from where it had reflexively reached up to tap her earpiece, even though she knew that these new high-tech comms could pick her up loud and clear without it.

"So am I." Barton's voice came through without so much as a crackle. Natasha almost looked around to see if he was standing next to her. _Very nice_. "So any idea why Fury's so pissed at us that he sent us on the easiest recon op in the book?"

"It's not the easiest." Natasha responded instantly. She wasn't in the mood for complaining. In and out - that was how she worked best. _Solo._ Maybe Fury really was punishing her for something, sending her on an op with the one agent most likely to get under her skin.

"No, that's the Banciu job that Harris and Koblevski got stuck with after their Iraq mission." She could hear the smirk in his voice. He wasn't exactly subtle about the disdain he held for certain agents. "But seriously Romanoff, did you do something the piss him off?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Natasha said coolly. _Anytime you want to shut up and concentrate on the job..._

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. They'd been sent to an old church in Munich, where there had been reports of people mysteriously disappearing from the grounds, never to be seen again. It was a bust op because they had a million of these "bermuda triangle" cases that people swore up and down were mystically haunted, but ninety-nine percent of the time were false alarms. The church was gorgeous, though - tall spires, beautifully crafted balconies, stone staircases swirling around and around. There'd been one like it where she'd lived for a few years as a child. Maybe if she was normal, she'd be feeling homesick right now. Maybe if she'd ever really had a home, there would be something to feel homesick about.

* * *

They stayed until the light blew away and she could feel her limbs locking into place. The church closed to the public in the evening, leaving them free to get some rest until the sun rose, and the tourists with it.

"Meet you back at the hotel?" Barton asked, and Natasha answered in the affirmative, running to catch a train that was just about to leave the station. She glanced back at the church one last time as they were leaving - and although Natasha would consider herself to be a very _non_-superstitious person, something gave her a quick chill. Like there was something there, something that hadn't been there before. She shook it off. They were looking for actual evidence here, not a gut feeling. Even if her gut feelings were usually right.

For once, she was glad to be gone when the day faded into the pitch black of the night.

* * *

When she hopped off the train and jogged into sight of the hotel, she was only a little surprised - if irritated - that Barton was already there. How he'd managed to beat her was a mystery - she'd grabbed the first train available, and he hadn't brought a vehicle with him. And she didn't like being one-upped - wasn't _used_ to it. Even if it was at something as simple as getting around the city.

"So that was a bust." Barton said, falling into stride beside her as they made their way up the stairs to their respective rooms. "Still no luck figuring out why we got sent on this op?"

"Maybe Fury wanted to teach me a lesson in patience." She muttered under her breath, and was a little surprised at the chuckle he gave.

"Maybe he wanted you to expand your horizons, Romanoff. Learn to play nice. I am your main link to S.H.I.E.L.D., after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Natasha asked sharply, put on edge by the question. Barton raised his hands in surrender.

"Relax, Widow. I'm just saying - they still aren't sure about you. You've proven yourself, I don't doubt that, but some of the council members still see you as the rogue assassin you were." _And now I'm associated with you._ That was the unspoken part of his statement. And then the answer became clear: they were both gaining back the trust of the council. Completing an op together - even if it was just a recon job - was one step towards that.

They'd reached their floor. "Sleep well." Was Barton's offhand comment as Natasha swiped her key card. She almost laughed.

That would be the day.

* * *

When she woke from the nightmares, gasping and clawing at her arms, it was five in the morning. Just about time for the sun to rise. She delayed leaving the bed for a minute, savoring the warmth of the sheets. Then she rolled off the edge, standing as she grabbed the phone and dialed in the necessary codes.

"Agent Romanoff." The warm voice came onto the line after two minutes of the usual passcode confirmations.

"Agent Coulson. We'll be heading out shortly, but so far nothing to report. The church area seems like every other - quiet at night, swarming with tourists during the day."

"Yeah, well, it's on the list for a reason. Keep me updated on your progress."

"Will do, sir." The line went dead. Natasha grabbed the few things she needed for the day's stakeout and walked over to the door. She opened it to see Barton, hand raised to knock. He blinked a few times.

"Good. We can leave right away." Natasha said coolly.

"The progress report?"

"Already called in. Agent Coulson says that the church 'is on the list for a reason'." She couldn't help a bit of sarcasm from leaking into her words.

"At least he doesn't think it's a shit mission." Barton said, already turning to leave. Natasha took a quick step to catch up to him, falling into place as they descended the stairs and exited the glass panel doors at the entrance to the hotel.

"Yeah, that makes it better." She responded. Barton shot her a look, and when he answered his voice was a bit harder than she was used to.

"Give Coulson a break, Romanoff. He was the only one who backed my play when I brought you in."

That made her clam up. She'd known that he'd defended them - of course she'd noticed Coulson's edgy attitude around the council members. But she hadn't known that he'd been the only one. It seemed she owed him a debt almost as large as the one she owed to this man walking beside her.

* * *

They took the train together this time, not being in such a rush. There were only a few other people on the train, and the hushed sound of the train was suprisingly relaxing. The sun was just beginning to rise when they exited the station, the light touching on the stone walls of the church.

"I'll take the south end again." Barton said; not really a question, but Natasha nodded her acquiescence anyway. She slipped the comm into her ear as she hiked up a hill to the same spot she'd found the day before. There was a nice little area with some foliage cover that was perfect for surveillance. "Testing comms."

"Loud and clear, Romanoff." Again she resisted the urge to turn and see where Barton was. Damn these earpieces. "Hey, if there's nothing by this afternoon, what do you say we split and check out that little cafe around the block?"

"We're on a recon op." Natasha said slowly, gritting her teeth. He was infuriating.

"Alright, straightlace, don't get all worked up. Just remember it was your idea when we've gone 18 hours without anything to eat."

"It's the op _description_ -" And then she broke off, because she was getting that feeling again. And there was definitely something that hadn't been there before.

"Romanoff? Hey, you there?"

"Those angel statues." She said, slowly. "Do you remember them being there yesterday?"

There was a long pause. She knew he would be assessing them as thoroughly as she had, going over his memories from the previous day.

"No." He said, and in that instant something changed. _Something_ was going on here, something unnatural. This was no longer a bust op. "You think we should go check it out?" It surprised her, the small act of him asking her opinion. He was better at teamwork than she.

"Let's wait until the tourists head out. The less witnesses we have, the better." The silence on the other end of the comms signaled the end of the conversation. Natasha settled into a more comfortable position from where she was perched. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

"So Romanoff." Barton started. Natasha pushed down her irritation. He seemed to enjoy useless small talk more than any other person she'd met. "Is this the first halfway interesting job you've had since S.H.I.E.L.D.? It seems like Fury's been keeping you on a pretty tight leash."

"I had a retrieval mission in Bangkok, but after that it's all been strictly recon." She'd swallowed back the memories of that trip, tucked them back with all the other jobs that she'd completed.

"What happened in Bangkok?" He sounded genuinely curious, damn him.

"A bomb happened in Bangkok." Natasha said shortly. There were the flashes - a rookie agent, just a kid had been there. She hadn't listened to Natasha's warnings, and maybe Natasha hadn't tried to stop her as hard as she could have. She'd been a recent acquisition to Natasha's nightmares.

The small talk stopped after that.

* * *

As the light faded and the crowd of tourists began to dissapate, Natasha could feel Barton growing restless, twigs cracking as he shifted around.

"Those angels creeping you out yet?" He asked finally. Natasha was loathe to admit it, but she'd been hard enough on him today - he had saved her life, after all. It wasn't like she was ever going to be able to repay him, but being civil to him was a start.

"There's something - _off_ - about them." She agreed. "Although why anyone with abilities would use them to move statues around is beyond me."

"Maybe it's not a person." Barton mused.

"What do you mean?"

"What if the statues themselves are what we're looking for? They could be some sort of alien object."

Natasha thought about it. "It's possible." She admitted. "But there's still something strange about it all."

"I'm with you there." Barton agreed, and something about the way he said it - _I'm with you_ - made her do a double take. Like maybe he didn't consider them to be on different teams - didn't blame her for his alienation from the S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups.

It was an odd concept.

* * *

They waited until the sun went down beyond the horizon and the doors of the church closed to the public to come down from their perches. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the only thing piercing through the murky blackness was the dim yellow of the street lamps.

They met at the back doors, Natasha picking the lock with a hairpin while Barton called in their report.

"Coulson's going on comms." He said when he'd hung up the phone, and a few seconds later there was another voice in her ear.

"Agent Romanoff responding." She said, still fidgeting with the lock.

"Agent Barton -" Beside her he cut off and dissolved into some sort of surprised gasp. Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Very funny, Clint." Coulson's voice was dry, but not entirely unamused. It seemed these two were closer than she'd thought.

"Just checking that you're awake over there." Barton said with a smirk, just as Natasha felt the last _click_ of the lock. The small wooden door swung inward, and they stepped in the doorway, waiting for their eyes to adjust.

When they did, the view that met their eyes was magnificent, to say the least. A narrow corridor whose width was made up in the rising expanses of the ceiling. Stone spires lined the hall, with contorted gargoyles perched on top. In daylight, it would've been stunning, but in the dim half-light there was an air of malice to it. Natasha shook off her unease with a scowl. This shouldn't be getting under her skin - _nothing_ should be getting under her skin. Wandering around an old church at night was hardly the most frightening thing she'd done. As they reached a larger room that split off in different directions, they both automatically went opposite ways. Natasha followed the winding passage to a flight of spiral staircases, which she climbed cautiously. She appeared in another passage, this time filled with windows open to the sky. There was nothing unusual here. She started to move towards the front of the church when Barton spoke up.

"Romanoff - you remember seeing those angels on the front balcony, right?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Well, I'm standing on the front balcony, and there's no sign of them."

"Romanoff, go meet him." This was Coulson now, a trace of worry in his tone. "You two should stay together until we've identified the threat."

"Will do, sir." She responded, immediately heading to where Barton was located. Something caught the edge of her eye and she turned, suddenly. One of the angels was a standing just a few feet away from her, hands outstretched in clawlike form.

"Agent Coulson, we may have a problem." She said, as calmly as she could manage. "The angels seem to be attacking."

"How?" Coulson's voice was urgent.

"I don't know." She responded. "They aren't moving when we can see them."

She backed away, slowly, keeping her eyes on the _thing_, whatever it was, until she stumbled into another room and slammed the door behind her. And then she saw something, in the shadows - and she was running, more terrified than she could ever remember being.

"Romanoff?" She heard Barton's voice in her ear, and there was something - worry, maybe, or outright fear - in his voice that made her that much more afraid.

She reached a small room, with no windows and just the one door, and she slammed it behind her, grinding the stone bar across the door.

"Romanoff. What the hell's going on?"

"I got away, barely." She said, gasping for breath. "Those _things_ aren't natural."

There was a long pause on the other end of the comms, and then Barton's voice came back on.

"Do we have an extraction team?"

"Don't be stupid, Barton." Natasha replied, leaning against the wall and trying to keep the despair from seeping into her voice. "We never have an extraction team."

"Then Coulson, find a way to get us out."

"I'm working on it, Clint."

"Oh, and Romanoff -"

Barton's voice cut off. And suddenly it was very, very quiet.

"Barton?" And something was wrong, something was very very wrong. And so Natasha did something incredibly stupid. She pushed back the stone block, and before she could think twice about what she was doing, she ran. Ran without stopping, without looking back, until she was standing on the balcony that Barton had stood on just moments before.

"Barton? _Clint!_"

Her voice rang out into the still night air.

"Clint? Romanoff, damn it, tell me what's going on."

"He's gone." Natasha was numb.

"What do you mean, _gone_?"

"I mean, he's vanished!" She snapped, but her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't move, and her head wasn't working right. She should be on the defensive, but she couldn't think. Couldn't formulate a plan.

"Agent Romanoff, I need you to get me specs on the attackers right now." She could hear Coulson's voice, sharp and demanding, and that helped snap her out of the haze. She lifted a hand to her ear.

"I'm on it."

And then she turned, to see a crowd of angels clustering around the doorway.


	3. Chapter 3

"Coulson, they're surrounding me." Natasha was careful to keep both eyes on her attackers. Whether they couldn't move while she was looking or just chose not to, it was the only advantage she had in her repertoire.

"Don't move." Came the immediate response. "There's an extraction team an hour from you -"

"That's not enough _time!_" Natasha snapped. "These things move fast - as soon as I look away they're going to be on me."

"Alright, just hold on." Coulson sounded frantic.

"Agent Hess on comms." A female voice sounded through her earpiece.

"Who the hell told you to come online?"

"Agent Coulson, sir, I believe I can help. I've been studying the heat signatures and energy levels surrounding the church, and in the past few days there have been extrenuous abnormalities in the fluctuation -"

"_Can you get to the point._" Natasha said through gritted teeth. Agent Hess coughed.

"Yes, of course. The point is, I believe these angels are somehow drawing energy from the dissolution of the atoms involved in transporting someone through space."

"So he's alive." A sweep of relief rushed through Natasha, surprising even herself.

"Well..." Agent Hess sounded hesitant, and dread immediately replaced the relief.

"Well, what?"

"The amount of energy it produced - that couldn't be caused by transporting him anywhere on earth, and moving him across the barriers that separate us from the other alien planets would only sap their energy. So it's not really a question of _where_ he went, it's more a question of _when."_

Natasha couldn't respond for a moment. She was so utterly _blank_ that she made the mistake of blinking - and then stumbled back into the cold, hard stone of the railing when the angels were suddenly so close she could reach out and touch them.

"We've never encountered time travel before," Coulson was saying when she tuned back into the conversation; "how do you even know that it's possible?"

"I don't, sir, but it seems like the only reasonable explanation."

"Reasonable." Coulson laughed, but it was verging on the line of hysterics. "Of course it is."

Natasha's mind raced. The extraction team was too far away to help her now, and Clint was beyond anyone's help - well, anyone's but hers. And then she started to form a plan.

"Coulson. I'm going to set my phone on the balcony and start recording a video. I need you to watch it from HQ. If I'm right, and these things can't move when someone's watching them, it'll give me a good enough head start."

"Are you sure?"

"No." Natasha answered firmly. "But right now it's my only option."

She heard the hesitation, Coulson's moment of indecisiveness before he pulled in a breath and answered, "Go ahead."

She set the phone to 'record', placed it gently on the balcony, and then crawled over the edge and dropped to the concrete, a forward roll breaking most of her fall. She half expected to look up to see the angels on her, but it seemed to be working - for now.

She jumped to her feet and started running.

* * *

"Agent Hess, I want that video up. Now." Coulson had found his way down to the control room where Hess had been conducting her research, and irritably stuck his earpiece in its case where it wouldn't pick up every goddamn _breath_ someone took. She jumped and looked over at him, her short blonde hair sticking up in every direction like she'd recently stuck her finger in a light socket. With the stories he'd heard about her - _unusual_ - experiments, it wouldn't surprise him if she actually had.

"Of course, sir." She hit a few buttons, and - there. God, that really was terrifying. There were too many angels to count, all with outstretched hands and teeth bared.

"Alright. Call in as many agents as you need to keep an eye on these things. And whatever you do, _don't blink_."

"Yes, sir." She replied automatically. Coulson stormed out of the room, dialling the extraction team's number once again.

"Estimated time?"

"We were able to clear through a storm area, so our ETA is now 37 minutes."

"Report back with any changes." Coulson hung up. Clint was lost, somewhere in a completely different time period - _if_ Hess was right - and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. Nothing that he'd thought of yet. But he'd find something - he _had_ to find something. Losing Clint was not an option. He turned down another hall, and knocked on the first door to the left. A middle-aged woman opened the door, and gave him a smile.

"Phil Coulson. It's been a while."

"It has, and I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Amanda."

"Of course." She replied briskly. "What do you need?"

"I need something to travel in time."

Amanda started to laugh, but then noticed the apparent desperation on his face and stopped.

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly." Coulson responded. "Clint's encountered a breed of - somethings - that were able to send him back in time."

"I'm afraid that's impossible." Amanda said with a shake of her head.

"There has to be _something_ -" Coulson broke off as his phone started to ring. _"What?"_ He snapped.

"Agent Coulson, sir, we have a bit of an issue." It was Agent Hess's voice, sounding small and bewildered on the other end of the line.

"What is it?"

"Well, sir - somehow, the angels are able to manifest more than one form."

"What does that mean?"

"It means - it came out of the video, sir. It's appearing right now."

"Shut off the video." Coulson replied instantly. "Don't take your eyes off of it. I'm on my way."

"But sir, Agent Romanoff -"

"Will already be halfway across the country, if I know her at all. It's time to worry about yourself." He was already moving. "You've never let me down, Amanda." He called over his shoulder. "Don't start now. Please." And then he was running down the halls, not having any clue what he was going to do when he reached the control room.


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha's plan couldn't even be called a plan, it was that poorly thought out. She had an _idea,_ would be a better term to describe it. An idea that lacked much needed specifics. All she knew for certain, was that she needed to save Barton - _needed_ to save him, in a way that was so much more than for a debt owed - and that to do so, she needed to get to the landing field when the extraction team would be in a matter of minutes.

So she made the obvious move; she stole a helicopter.

Not the quietest stunt to pull, and she was sure she'd be in deep shit with the council when she got back, but at the moment there were more important things to deal with. So she found the nearest helipad, and knocked out any of the guards who noticed her. In under two minutes she was lifting into the air, expertly maneuvering the controls. Thank god she'd thought to teach herself how to fly one of these things when she was a kid. Significantly more difficult than riding a bike, but still something you didn't forget in a hurry.

"Agent Romanoff, status." Coulson's voice was in her ear again.

"I'm catching a flight back to HQ. Maybe there's something there that can help me find Barton."

"They're here too, Natasha."

That made her freeze up - not only the fear in Coulson's voice, but that he'd called her Natasha.

"I'll come prepared, then."

She landed at the airstrip just as the team was landing.

"Romanoff." Sitwell stepped off the plane with a grim expression. "I'm going to assume that things aren't boding too well for Barton if you're here alone."

"No." Natasha responded shortly. "But he's not gone yet."

"What do you want us to do?"

"Give me a ride back to HQ. But first I'm going to need all the C-4 you have available."

It was to Sitwell's credit that he didn't hesitate to give the order.

God, she hoped her plan was going to work.

* * *

Coulson reached the control room out of breath, bending over as he stumbled to a stop in the doorway. There was only one, thank god. But still - a second without someone watching it and they'd all be as good as dead.

"Agent Coulson, sir." Agent Hess spoke up, still keeping her eyes trained on the angel. "We seem to have it under control. The best thing you can do at this point is go find a way to kill them."

"Are you sure you've got it under control?" Coulson asked. Agent Hess laughed, but it got stuck in her throat.

"Yes, sir. I'm certain."

So Coulson headed back to see if Amanda had found a way to rescue his best agent. On the way, his comm crackled to life.

"Coulson, I've got an update."

"Go ahead, Romanoff."

"Well, the good news is that I know how to kill them."

"And the bad news?"

There was a slight hesitation. "I had to blow up the church."

Coulson brought a hand up to rub his forehead. Of course she did. "Witnesses?"

"A few. None that saw me, though."

"And you're sure that they're gone?"

"Positive. I scoured the place."

"Perfect; I'll go finish off this one, then."

"Wait - you have to keep that one alive." There was an underlying tone of desperation in her voice that Coulson had never heard before. If this was any other time, he would've wondered about it - but it wasn't. He heard her take in a deep breath. "I might have a plan to rescue Barton, but I need at least one angel alive."

"Alright. I'll keep it contained for as long as I can. But you'd better be here in the next three hours, Romanoff."

"Thank you, sir." And then the line went dead.

* * *

When Natasha arrived at HQ exactly 159 minutes later, she wasted no time going to find Coulson.

"I need to speak to the monitor of the Asgardian objects."

"Amanda's expecting you." Was Coulson's brief response. She gave him a curt nod before ducking into the stairs.

"Amanda, please tell me you have something." The blonde turned to face Natasha with a grim look on her face.

"I know Coulson was hoping for something to travel through time -"

"No, we don't need anything like that." Natasha said quickly. "I'm looking for something that has the kind of magical pull that Thor's hammer has - something that can be drawn back to the owner, no matter how far the object."

Amanda pursed her lips, a glimmer of hope entering her eyes. "Wait here." She commanded. "I might have something."

As she rummaged through the items stored in the back room (Amanda had been able - somehow - to convince the council to let her keep a few of the benign magical items here, instead of being blasted off into space), Natasha tried to calm herself down. She didn't know why she was so upset. Barton wasn't even really her partner - just someone she'd known for a while from a distance. But he'd saved her. He'd seen in her something that even she hadn't been able to see, something that made her worthy of saving. And maybe this was just her returning the favor, paying off her debt. But maybe it wasn't.

"I found something." Amanda emerged from the back room holding a gold-emblazoned pen and inkwell. "This was used by one of the Asgardian Queens centuries ago. It essentially works like the hammer - the objects can only be apart for a small amount of time before they're drawn back together."

"Thank you, Amanda." Natasha said sincerely. She turned to go.

"Romanoff - this plan of yours. Will it work?"

"I guess we'll find out." Natasha said with a fleeting smirk that portrayed a confidence she didn't feel, before walking into the hallway and heading for the one room that was barricaded nearly into oblivion.

"I need all the agents to clear the room." She said coolly when she arrived. She received bewildered, amused, even angry expressions as a response. "Coulson's orders." That cleared most of them out, but a small pixie-haired blonde was left, still staring furiously at the angel. "You must be Agent Hess." Natasha commented.

"You must be Agent Romanoff." Hess responded, without blinking. Natasha was a little surprised by her determination. "You have a plan?"

"Of course."

"Suicide mission?"

Natasha's mouth quirked up into a wry grin. "Probably."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Take this." Natasha set the inkwell into the agent's outstretched hand. "And close your eyes, just for a moment."

The other agent let out a long breath, then reluctantly closed her eyes. It was harder for Natasha to force her eyes to close, now that she knew for certain that there was no backup plan, no exit strategy. She didn't even know if she'd be sent back to remotely the same time period as Barton. But she had to try.

She closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

When Natasha opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of a very large field, just a few steps away from a precipice overlooking a raging river. She stumbled back away from the edge, looking around her. She could only hope that the angel had sent her to the same area Clint had been sent to, otherwise she had a _long_ trip ahead of her. Days, at least. Unless she could find a train - but she wasn't even sure if they'd been invented yet. So she chose the direction that seemed like it might be in vaguely the right direction and started walking.

She spent five hours in the blazing sun, following an old gravel road before she heard a clatter from far behind her. She turned, and saw an old-fashioned wagon hitched to two horses. As the wagon drew closer she made out a family of five: two parents, two boys around ages 14 and 11, and a girl who couldn't have been more than 6. And they were all dressed in medieval-fashioned clothing. _Please, don't let me have gone back this far._ Natasha thought, but as it was there was nothing to do about it. The family pulled the horses over, slowing to a stop beside her.

"You look exhausted, dear." The woman said in a soft, kind voice. "Would you like to join us? We may not be going to the same places, but we can bring you as far as you need."

"Where are you headed?" Maybe that would give her an idea of where she was.

"A city called Germering - it's small, but it has room to grow, and we needed to get away from the big cities." The woman replied. Natasha let out a breath of relief.

"I'm going to Munich, which is only a few hour's walk from there - a ride would be much appreciated."

"Well then, come in by all means." The woman said with a welcoming smile that contrasted the frightened looks of the children and the apprehensive look of the man. Natasha's work suit and the various weapons strapped to her sides certainly didn't make her look incredibly trusting.

"Thank you." She said as she swung herself over the side of the wagon. The woman laughed.

"Don't thank me now, dear. We have a long trip ahead of us, and with these three little ones you might not be thanking me for long." _Damn._ Seemed like she'd only been transported in time, not space. "Ah, but I've been rude. My name is Aleyd. This is my husband, Heinrich, my two boys Iwan and Jakob, and my daughter, Amalie."

"I'm Natasha." She wasn't sure why she didn't just think up a new name, but it wasn't like anyone in this time was going to know her, so it wasn't of much consequence.

They settled into a comfortable silence as the time passed, and Natasha felt herself slowly drifting off into sleep.

* * *

Days passed - long days of bumpy roads and screaming children and being so hungry she could pass out, because there was no way Natasha was eating these people's food when they had so little already. She pretended to eat it when they handed it to her, then slipped it back into their packs when they weren't looking. The only towns they passed could hardly be called towns, just clusters of small houses scattered here and there around the road. The longer they were on the road, the more anxious she grew - Amanda hadn't exactly been precise about how long the pen and inkwell could stay apart, and then there was always the fact that Natasha really didn't know if it would work at all, or if she'd be able to find Barton. She gripped the pen a little tighter, keeping it firmly wrapped in its cloth. Even good people could do bad things for money, and Natasha didn't want anyone even catching a glimpse of the pen's gold-plated lining.

Another few days, and Aleyd was insisting that they would be arriving in Germering that very day. Natasha hoped she was right. She was just closing her eyes, trying to keep her mind off her stomach, when she heard the clatter of horseshoes and the dull sound of shouting. She jerked up, instantly alert. There were men coming, probably near twenty of them - all on horseback, all with swords at their hip. They circled the wagon, forcing them to pull to a stop. _Bandits._ Natasha pulled herself slowly into a crouch, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"Hand over all of your food and weapons." One man said - the leader, Natasha presumed by his commanding tone. He was the one to take out first.

"We're simply trying to pass through, we're not here for trouble." Heinrich said quietly. The men jeered.

"And we're not here for trouble either." The leader responded coolly. "If you'll hand over your possessions, your horse, and maybe your wife there -" The jeering grew louder.

"Get down." Natasha murmered to Aleyd. The woman shot her an astonished look.

"Natasha -"

"I said, _get down_." She pulled herself to her feet.

"Who's this pretty little thing, all dressed up in a man's clothing?" The man said with a raucous smile. "Have you come to surrender yourself to us?" Natasha could feel her anger, now, growing in the pit of her stomach. She would have to do this quickly, get them away from the family. So she jumped out and tried to run - made it a couple yards away before she allowed them to catch her, the leader grabbing her neck with one muscled hand and lifting her into the air, cutting off her air flow. But now the group was a good enough distance from the family, which was all she needed.

Natasha grabbed onto the man's arm and swung herself up until she had his neck between her thighs, and snapped it with a quick jerk before the others could react. Then she was onto the next one - and the bandits were getting over their surprise, drawing their swords and hopping down from their horses to face her. She pulled her knives from her boots, slashing and stabbing and throwing them when necessary. She dodged a sword coming near her, and snapped the arm behind it with one quick movement. She heard the scream of anguish, but she was already on to the next one. She caught sight of the family, staring her with eyes that were wide with horror. "Go!" She shouted, and she could see Aleyd shaking her head even now, even after they saw that she was a monster, but then one of the bandits came toward them and she could see Heinrich saying something, and then clicking the horses until they moved into a gallop.

The moment of distraction was enough for a man to slip up behind her, and she only had the slightest time to move so that instead of piercing her heart the sword stabbed into her right side. She let out a gasp of breath, but she didn't have time to recover so instead she pulled the sword out with a sharp cry, and then ducked another swing. Short and simple, now. But she could feel the days without food taking their toll, and with the wound in her side she was struggling for breath as she took out man after man. She felt a tearing pain in her left arm as a sword glanced against it, and then a blow to the side of her head. She took out two more men before she collapsed to the ground. There was only one man left now, kicking her viciously in the ribs. She would've vomited if there was anything to throw up, but as it was she gathered the last bit of strength she had to twist her attackers ankle and roll away from the sword that came down towards her, before grabbing her last knife and stabbing the man through the back of his chest.

She slowly pulled herself to her feet, one arm pressed against her side to slow the bleeding. She tore up one of the men's shirt, wrapping it around her side and then her arm. Every movement was agonizing, but at least she wasn't coughing up blood. She turned and started walking away from the scattered corpses. It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

It took hours, and she'd nearly collapsed a few times. But finally, she could see a city in the distance. She called it a city because, although significantly smaller than what it had been in modern-day, it was still much larger than the towns that they'd passed through on their way._ Just another minute._ She told herself, forcing a deep breath in. Blinked away the dots that flew into her vision. She was not going to pass out just a few steps away from her destination. So she took one slow, agonizing step at a time until she reached the town. People were milling around, but the chatter ceased when she stumbled into the square. Looks of apprehension, fear, confusion - all of those flew around.

"I'm looking for a man named Clint Barton." Natasha said, slipping into fluent german and making her voice as loud as it could go at this point.

"I know him." A boy, no more than fourteen, stepped into the road.

"I need you - to bring me to him." Natasha gasped out, but her knees were buckling and her vision was growing dim and she had just time to notice that the wound in her side had opened up again before she fell unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

When Natasha came to, it was slowly, and to a rush of pain. Her head, her ribs, her side and her arm were all throbbing. So she pushed herself up carefully, and looked around. She was in a tent, lying on a pile of blankets. All good signs, but still - she wasn't going to trust anyone just yet. She pushed herself to her feet, stumbling a bit. _Shit._ If anyone were to come at her, she'd be lucky to stay standing long enough for the attack. _Come on Natasha, damn it, just put one foot ahead of the other_. There - now, at least, she was out of the tent.

"Natasha!" She turned at her name, instantly on edge. She dropped into as much of a defensive position as she could, but the movement set her off balance and her right knee buckled under her.

"Hey - hey, be careful." It was Barton, coming up behind her and looping her arm around his shoulders and helping her hobble back to the tent.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you." Natasha breathed, as he set her back down on the mass of blankets she'd been sleeping on before.

"Yeah, ditto." Barton replied, lifting her shirt up to check her bandages. "Although you could've come a bit sooner."

"Sooner?" Natasha laughed, then stopped when it broke off into a coughing that only brought back the pain in her ribs. "I had to come from the nearest HQ by _horseback."_

"And that took you eight months?" Barton asked, and Natasha stared at him. He glanced up at her. "What?" He asked, sounding a little irritated.

"You've been here for eight months?" Natasha asked. He nodded. "I came to find you less than a day after you disappeared - I guess time travel isn't the most exact art."

"Apparently." Barton said, lowering her shirt back over her side once he was certain that the wound hadn't reopened. "So do we have a way to get back, or did you just miss me so much that you had to come get stuck in the 15th century with me?" He asked with a smirk.

"We have a possible extraction."

"Possible?"

"It may or may not work."

"Fantastic." Barton responded with a snort, moving to his feet and going to grab a bowl in the back corner that Natasha hadn't noticed. "You've been out for nearly forty-eight hours, so you're probably starving." He said, sitting down next to her and holding out the bowl of what looked like thin soup. Natasha shook her head.

"I'm not hungry." A look of something - worry? Fear? - passed over Barton's features.

"Nat, how long has it been since you've eaten anything?" He asked slowly. Natasha was too tired to tell him to call her Romanoff. She thought back - if she'd been unconscious for the past two days...

"Two and a half weeks."

"And water?" There was something closed up about his features, now.

"I had a few mouthfuls a day."

"Okay, Natasha - you _really_ need to eat this soup. It tastes disgusting, but it's your best chance of _not_ falling into a coma from blood loss and lack of food, got it?"

Natasha reluctantly took the bowl from him. The first sip was scalding, but nearly as soon as she swallowed she felt it coming back up. She turned so it would land on the grass instead of the blankets, and when she pulled herself back up she felt Barton's gaze on her.

"I'm fine." She said immediately, then panic gripped her as she suddenly realized that the pen wasn't strapped to her leg like it usually was. "The pen -"

"Here." Barton pulled it from his boot and handed it to her. "I didn't want anyone to find it."

"Good." Natasha said, relieved. "Because that's our extraction plan." Understanding lit Barton's features.

"It's Asgardian."

"And let's hope it's strong enough to work through time streams as well as across long distances." Natasha replied grimly, breathing out slowly as a streak of pain from her side lashed against her. "So what did you do in 15th century germany for eight months?" She asked tightly, looking for something to distract her.

"Oh, you know - fought a couple duels, won a few lordships." Barton smirked.

"Of course you did." Natasha muttered. "How long did it take you to adjust to using a sword?" Barton shrugged.

"'Bout a week. Coulson and I used to practice with them occasionally, as a way to let off steam, so it wasn't completely new. Also, they love archery here in the medieval ages."

"Seems like you've found your place, Barton." Natasha said with a grin. "Sure you want to come back to the 21st century?"

"Well, we do have running water in the 21st century, so I'm gonna have to say yes." Natasha closed her eyes for a brief moment when the pain in her ribs flared up again. "And call me Clint." Her eyes flew open. He was giving her an appraising stare, like he wasn't sure if she would accept the offer of friendship that this obviously was. And if this had been any other time, or any other person, she probably wouldn't have.

"Alright, _Clint."_ She said finally, leaning back into the blankets. "Any chance that you're going to let me get up and look around town?"

"Nope." He settled down beside the makeshift bed, stretching out his legs. "Not until you can eat that bowl of soup."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but obligingly took a miniscule sip, this time keeping it down. She set the bowl aside. Best not to push her luck for now.

"So how'd you get rid of the angels?" Clint - it was surprisingly easy to think of him as that - asked.

"How do you know I got rid of them?" Natasha asked. Clint shot her a glance, and she smirked. "Fine. I loaded the church with C-4 and blew it sky high."

Clint laughed. "Bet the council can't wait to get you back so they can send you on months of recon missions."

"Don't bring it up." Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. "But it was that, or letting them loose on the world."

Clint nodded. "You made the right call." He said, and Natasha shot him a grateful look, just before a yawn escaped her lips. "'Kay, time for you to go back to that wonderfully unconscious state you were in not too long ago."

"Jesus, Clint." Natasha snapped, but it didn't come out as harsh as she'd intended. "You're like a mother hen." But he was already slipping out of the tent.

"Eat the soup!" He called over his shoulder, making her roll her eyes before she closed them and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

When she woke up it was dark outside, but there was no way she was staying in this goddamned tent for another minute. So she slipped on her boots, took a few small sips of the now-cold soup, and hobbled outside.

The streets were mostly silent, but there was a dull roar coming from a street over, so she made her way through the shadows to see what it was. When she rounded the corner, she saw the flickering lights of a bonfire, and what seemed to be half the town crowded around it. She walked closer, standing just far enough behind the crowd so she could see the festivities without being jostled around by the clusters of people. They were singing - loud, raucous singing that had more shouting than actual music to it. She stood and watched for a while, at the companionship that these people seemed to share simply by living in the same city. It was remarkable. When she was finished with watching, she turned down the nearest alley, not really sure where she was going.

"Natasha!" She turned to see Clint jogging to catch up with her. There was something off about the way he moved, but she couldn't put a finger to what it was. He caught up, and stopped beside her. "Why don't you come join in the fun?" He asked, leaning against the side of a building.

"Not my idea of fun." Natasha responded nonchalantly.

"They're good people." Clint remarked offhandly.

"I'm sure they are."

There was a long pause.

"Eight months is a long time."

Something caught in her throat. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He looked over at her, surprised. "You didn't have to come back for me - you _shouldn't_ have. It wasn't the smartest move, tactically. But you did."

"I owe you." Natasha responded, trying to guide the conversation back to familiar waters. "You saved my life, gave me a second chance." She cleared her throat and smirked. "Besides, Coulson was getting on my nerves. I needed you there to neutralize him."

"Natasha."

There was something in the way he said her name, the way he was looking at her now.

And then he took a step towards her, brought his hands up to cup her face. And he was kissing her, and it was different from the other times she'd kissed someone because this time it wasn't for a cover, it wasn't to distract someone from seeing the monster she was underneath. It was real, so real it hurt.

But now, of course, she knew why his balance had been off and why his voice had sounded soft and blurred. Natasha pulled herself back, kneeing him in the groin, and as he bent over muttering expletives she made a break for it, running as fast as her injuries would let her.

Maybe if she ran fast enough, she could escape that fleeting feeling of happiness she'd felt, before she'd smelled the alcohol on his breath.

She hoped he wouldn't remember it in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha woke early from where she'd been curled up outside the city, sheltered by a cluster of trees. She hadn't wanted to go back to the tent and wake up to see him sitting there, trying to repair what had been broken in that one, drunken mistake. But she had to face him eventually, so she made her way back into the town. Clint was sitting in the tent, head pressed to his knees.

"Hangover?" Natasha asked, sitting down and bringing the bowl of soup to her lips. Clint looked up at her, and his expression closed off immediately. _Damn it_. Apparently he hadn't been so drunk that he wouldn't remember what had happened.

"You have no idea." He muttered, groaning as he shifted around into a different sitting position. "Remind me never to drink when there aren't any aspirin available for the next morning."

"Will do -" Natasha was cut off when the bit of soup she'd swallowed came back up. She hung over the edge of the blankets for a moment, retching, before she pulled herself back into a sitting position, wiping her mouth against the back of her hand. The night of wandering around hadn't done her any good, either - she had to focus to stop herself from passing out again.

"What a pair we make." Clint said with a self-deprecating laugh. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents, stuck in the medieval ages, barely able to walk."

Natasha was about to respond when she felt something growing hot against her foot. She pulled out the pen, nearly dropping it when her hand brushed against the burning hot metal. "Hold onto me." She said shortly, and Clint grabbed her forearms without question.

"You really think this is going to work?" He asked.

"I hope so." Was all that Natasha was able to say, before the world started spinning and a bolt of lightning shot through her.

* * *

"We need medics here, ASAP! Somebody get Coulson, tell him his boy's back." Shouting surrounded them, and it took Natasha a second to orient herself. They were back in HQ, on the white tiled floors with LED lights glaring at them. Agents were rushing back and forth, shouting commands.

"See? I told you it would work." She mumbled, before her legs gave out and the world started to go fuzzy.

"Natasha? Nat! Hey, I need a medic over here!" A small part of her brain recognized Clint's voice, but it was too distracted by the black dots clouding her vision to care. _We made it._ Was her last thought. _We made it._

* * *

When she regained consciousness the first thing that she heard was a small, insistent beeping and the smell of antiseptic. She was in the hospital ward. With a reluctant sigh, she opened her eyes. She was sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous IVs and moniters. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and noticed with a shock that Clint was sprawled out in the chair across from her bed, soundly asleep. He stirred slightly, and his eyes flickered open. When he saw that she was awake, he pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm not an expert at these things," Natasha said, "but I'm fairly certain that only immediate family and SOs are allowed into a patient's room when they're unconscious."

Clint shrugged. "I snuck past the nurses." He said nonchalantly, stifling a yawn. "Figured you wouldn't mind some real food after a week of being fed through a tube." He tossed her a bag of oreos, which Natasha opened gratefully.

"A week?"

"Yeah, you had the doctors pretty worried. Blood loss, fractured ribs, dehydration, malnourishment, minor concussion - you pulled all the shots, Nat."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Natasha muttered, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. "Any chance you can pull off a rescue mission? I hate hospitals."

A glint entered his eyes. "Well, I _might_ be able to sneak you out in one of the janitor's carts -"

"Agent Barton." They both froze and looked over at the door, where Fury was standing. "I need to speak with you and Romanoff in my office. Clear her with one of the doctors first. I expect you there within the hour."

"Yes, sir." Clint replied automatically. Fury turned and stalked out of the room. "Well, this is gonna be fun." Clint muttered. "Ready to get out of here?"

"You have no idea." Natasha responded, slowly taking out her many IVs. Clint came over to stand beside the bed, ready to assist her if she needed help getting up. But whatever the doctors had been pumping her full of was working, and she was able to walk out of the room with a minimal amount of pain.

After getting cleared, they made their way up to Fury's office with some trepidation. Natasha had only had minimal contact with the director since coming to S.H.I.E.L.D., and most of it had been during him telling Coulson that bringing her in had been Clint's worst move yet. They stopped outside his office.

"Ready?" Clint asked, glancing over at her. Natasha smirked.

"As ever." She replied, and pushed open the door.

* * *

"Both of you made some grave errors on this mission, mistakes that could have cost your lives, and the lives of other agents." Fury said, turning to face them. Clint opened his mouth to respond, but the director cut him off. "But despite those errors, you pulled off what could be the greatest rescue mission to ever go down at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Thank you, sir." Natasha responded, because Clint looked too astonished to say anything.

"As soon as you're fully recovered, Romanoff, you two have a mission already lined up in Iran. It's all in here." Fury handed them each a file, which they opened immediately.

"Strike Team Delta, sir?" Natasha asked.

"You two are going to be working as partners from now on." Fury responded. "That's what you'll be called. A little showy, I know, but the council wants everything sounding _official."_ He looked up at them, and although he wasn't smiling, he looked slightly less antagonistic than every other time Natasha had seen him. It vanished almost instantly. "Alright, I've seen enough of you two. Get back to training." Natasha covered a smile as she turned to follow Clint out the door.

"So, Strike Team Delta." Clint said as soon as they were out of earshot of the office. "Looks like you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon."

"Damn." Natasha said with a smirk. "Here I was, thinking I'd be able to move onto some other partner as soon as we got back."

"Apparently your luck's run out." Clint's voice was teasing, but when he glanced over at her his expression said all that needed to be said. He looked away, suddenly. "I'm sorry about the other night." He said in a low voice. Natasha shook her head.

"Don't be. You were drunk, it was a mistake."

"I didn't think it was _that_ much of a mistake." Clint muttered. Natasha wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing, I - nothing." But then he looked over at her, and his expression spoke volumes. Natasha took in a short breath.

And then she took a step towards him and suddenly they were kissing, in the bend of a hallway where anyone could see, but she didn't care because his hands were running up and down her back and her fingers were in his hair and there was something loosening in her chest, and for the first time in a long time what she was feeling could be described as _happy._

When they pulled apart, there was something different in his expression - and, Natasha was sure, in hers as well. And it took a moment to gather her thoughts, because she didn't want to gather them. She wanted to stay here, in this oblivious mess, with him.

"I'm glad you're my partner, Clint." Natasha breathed out.

"And I'm glad you're mine."

That was really all that needed to be said.


End file.
